


It's sad to hope, but leave your shell to us

by Summertime_saddness



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Conversations, Friendship, Gen, Hospitals, Implied Lydia/Stiles, Past Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 20:00:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6164998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Summertime_saddness/pseuds/Summertime_saddness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are you now, interested?” Malia keeps her voice tight, emotionless. But she’s slumping slightly in the chair, her claws extending and contracting in her lap.</p>
<p>Lydia shuts her eyes. She inhales deeply.</p>
<p>“I don’t know.” Lydia whispers. "I don't know."</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's sad to hope, but leave your shell to us

Malia slips into Lydia’s hospital room sometime after Scott finally convinces Stiles to leave and a few hours after midnight. She’s changed her clothes in the hours that have past, wearing an old outfit that Lydia had helped her pick out back when she was still getting used to walking on two legs rather than four. A subconscious decision. She’s taken a shower, scrubbed her body of the blood and grime left behind after her fight with the Desert Wolf, with the Beast, her body still aching from healing over and over. Malia can still feel the sticky residue of sweat and blood embedded in her skin, can still smell gunpowder and twisted shifter magic and mercury in her hair. Malia shudders. 

In the quiet hospital room Lydia looks small inside the narrow bed, her pale face pinched in exhaustion and pain. The slash wasn’t deep, and Malia can smell the medication working through her system, keeping her body stable. It’s nearly silent, nothing but the sound of the two of them breathing and the steady beep of the monitor next to Lydia’s bed. She doesn’t sit in the chair Stiles had occupied for most of the night, instead she just stands, feeling, not for the first time, like a hurricane trapped in a breakable body. Lydia shifts slightly in the bed, her eyes fluttering open, squinting in the glare from the yellow white lights of the room, focusing on Malia.

“Malia,” Lydia breathes quietly, her lips quirking upwards slightly, eyebrow twitching as if it’s trying to arch. 

Malia can’t help the gasping sound that seems to slip out from her body, the pure feeling of relief of seeing Lydia, breathing, alive, right in front of her. 

Lydia slowly moves her hand down the bed so it’s closer to Malia’s stiff form, her fingers tapping softly against the sheet. 

“I,” Malia clears her throat, her voice sounding rough and heavy. “I don’t really want to hold your hand.” 

She tilts her chin up minutely, swallowing harshly. 

Lydia just smiles again, drawing her hand back slightly, the scent old pain and bleach strong in the air. 

“That’s OK,” Lydia says softly. “I’m OK.” 

Malia nods jerkily at that. 

“Are you?” Lydia asks, gently. 

Malia doesn’t answer, just shrugs her shoulders absently, keeping her gaze down on Lydia’s small hand on the bed. She reaches her hand out suddenly, and grabs onto Lydia’s arm, squeezing. Lydia jerks slightly, gasping as black lines begin to creep up Malia’s arms, drawing up, crisscrossing across her throat, as she drags the residual pain from Lydia’s body into her own. They both gasp at the sensation, and Malia finally concedes, collapsing into the chair next to the bed. 

“Thanks,” Lydia said softly, her gaze steady as she watched Malia take in heaving breathes. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Malia shrugged again, reaching a hand to pick at a loose thread on her jean shorts with a careful claw. She feels exhausted, cagey, the room smelled like dried blood, antiseptic and Stiles. It made her nose twitch, she wants to sneeze. 

“You’re pack.” Malia he said quietly. From the corner of her eye she could see Lydia’s soft, sad, smile, her green eyes watching Malia’s jerky movements. 

They sit in comfortable silence, listening to the beeping of the machine, the gentle murmurs of voices passing by outside the room door. Malia was long past visiting hours. 

“Stiles,” Malia begins, her voice sounding loud and harsh in the silence of the room. 

It feels like it breaks something within the room, a crack forming on the glass closure of their peaceful quiet, damaging it beyond repair. There’s no going back now. Malia doesn’t bother finishing her sentence. There’s no point, there’s nothing for her to say really. No angry words in her throat, no vengeful indulgences waiting to be acted out. She’s always known really, always knew it would end up like this, somehow. 

“I never encouraged him,” Lydia says suddenly, voice thick with emotion and conviction. “I never said I was interested, I wasn’t interested, Malia.”

Malia looks up, brown eyes locking on watery green, and she feels like the broken crack in the room had originated from her heart, tearing slowly down her insides, trying to break her open. 

“Are you now, interested?” Malia keeps her voice tight, emotionless. But she’s slumping slightly in the chair, her claws extending and contracting in her lap.

Lydia shuts her eyes. She inhales deeply.

“I don’t know.” She whispers.

Malia nods, keeping her gaze on the bed.

“Well, I guess you better figure it out then.” Malia says quietly. 

Lydia doesn’t apologize, or offer excuses or explanations, and for that Malia is grateful. Lydia just watches her, the bandage on her throat keeping her neck stiff, her hands shaking at her sides the only evidence of her emotion. She smells sad, like guilt and day old regret, and buried underneath the fresh, flowery scent of deep affection. 

Malia doesn’t leave, she spends the night hunched over Lydia’s bed, taking her pain away every few hours, talking quietly when Lydia wakes up periodically. They don’t mention Stiles again. In the morning, Malia slips out while Lydia is asleep, watches her hair spread out against the pillow like canopy of liquid gold. She can’t fault Stiles for loving her. Not really. 

__&&__

 

When she leaves the hospital she’s startled to find Braeden sitting in a black Camaro in the parking lot, tapping on her phone. When she spots Malia, she waves slightly, and reaches over to unlock the door. They don’t speak as Malia slips inside, slumping over in the seat. She’s tired, body still healing from the battle, her bones painful from draining away so much of Lydia’s pain. 

“Your cousin wants to know if you want to visit him.” Braeden says unhurriedly, pulling slowly out of the parking lot. 

Malia nods slowly. Cousin. She had almost forgotten about him. 

“Sure,” She says slowly, eyes watching the cars zip past them as they turn onto the main road. “I would like to leave, I think. For a little while.” 

Braeden just smiles and tosses Malia her phone. 

“Call Scott to let him know,” she says with a smirk, “tell him you’re going on an adventure.”

**Author's Note:**

> I told myself I wasn't going to write another sad one...  
> This is not a sequel to "I know, it's fun to pretend isn't it?" though it could read like that if you wanted. That one and this were two separate ideas I had. Sort of opened ended because I want to somehow reunite Malia and Derek. Inspiration taken again from next week's trailer! Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> title from Limousine from brand new!


End file.
